Dear Rachel
by givemekevinbacon
Summary: Rachel Cuddy is a sixteen year old high school junior who stresses over english papers, paints her nails, and plays field hockey. She also has a biological father who is desperate to get to know her. A short trip back to the Only Fools Rush In universe.
1. 1

_A/N: I've decided to briefly venture back into the Only Fools Rush In Universe. This is going to be short story, no more than three chapters or so. The focus is heavily centered on Rachel, which I'm sure you gathered from the title, but underneath it all, it's about House and Cuddy. This takes place before the epilogue to the original story, and Rachel is 16 and a Junior in high school. If you haven't read Only Fools Rush In, don't worry, this will still make sense. Simply disregard canon for a bit :D_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

She recognized the zip code on the envelope. She recognized the name too, but she tried not to think about that. She knew what was inside without having to look; she was surprised it taken him this long, but she didn't want to think about that either. She didn't want to think about any of it, so she cast the envelope to the side and did her best to ignore it.

She thought about her daughter instead. Rachel. Barely sixteen but wise beyond her years with the spontaneity level of a ten year old—something she knew she got from House. She preferred sketches to calculus and spent her money on fashion magazines and drawing pencils. She loved chess and Woody Allen, but she wasn't afraid to admit that she still enjoyed watching _Anastasia_. She had a single freckle on the right side of her nose and blue eyes that sparkled all on their own. She had a smile turned heads and a look of determination that scared some. Her daughter was a gift. A gift she wasn't necessarily willing to share.

She looked down at the envelope. Rachel had a field hockey game in half an hour and House would be by her office soon. They made it a point to make it to all of her home games; they both had busy schedules, but Cuddy insisted that they make the effort—not that she understood what was happening during the games. Rachel had been playing for over six years and she still had no idea what the hell a "spin dodge" was.

She sighed and reached for her letter opener, knowing full well that she couldn't ignore it; it was the elephant in the room; a question in a letter.

Cuddy tore the jagged blade through envelope with slightly more force than normal. She took a deep breath before letting her eyes wander down the page.

_Dr. Cuddy, _

_I'm sure you've figured out why I'm writing to you by this point. I'm curious as to how long it took you to open this letter—probably the same amount of time it took me to write it, if not longer. Anyway, I want you to know that I am so grateful for what you've done the past 16 years. It feels weird to write that number down. I can't believe it's been that long. Anyway, I hope you're doing well. I have no doubt in my mind that you've been a great mom to Rachel. I hope that she's well, too. I also hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of looking you up. I'd decided a long time ago that I would, but I didn't have the courage to do it until now. Maybe that makes me a coward, I don't know. Maybe it just makes me human. The point is that I looked you up, that I'm making the effort—that I'd like to make the effort. With Rachel, that is. She's older now, and more importantly, I'm older now. I know that's no excuse, but it's the only one I've got. I don't regret leaving her with you. I want to make that clear—I've never regretted leaving her with you. But I have regretted not knowing her, and I'm at a point in my life where I'd like to make amends. I won't bore you with the finer details, but I have changed a lot since the last time you saw me. I've graduated college and held a steady and fairly lucrative job for almost five years now. I've had a few serious relationships, but nothing that felt one hundred percent right. I think I'm ready to be—well I'm ready to be anything that Rachel wants me to be, if that makes sense. Even if that means absolutely nothing. There's another letter inside, one I hope you'll let her read. I'll understand if you don't, or of you don't think she's ready yet. You certainly know her better than me, better than anyone I'd imagine. But out of purely selfish reasons, I hope you do show it to her. Because I have a lot to say, and I'd really like it if she would listen. Anyway, I've already taken up too much of your time. Don't feel obligated to write me back. In fact, don't feel obligated to do anything. But do think about what I said. _

_Thanks for your time. _

_Sincerely, _

_Simon Baker_

She sighed once more, the tension leaving her body as she slumped her shoulders. She brought a hand to her forehead and rubbed it gently. She didn't know what to do. She'd been waiting for this letter to arrive ever since Rachel turned twelve, but in the back of her mind she always hoped it never would; Rachel's father being out of the picture made everyone's live easier. Simpler. Rachel knew she was adopted, and a few years back they'd told her the full story, but she'd never had to face the issue head on; Cuddy never heard from her grandparents and her father hadn't made contact until now. Rachel being adopted had been an abstract issue—now it was very, very real.

She didn't know if her sixteen-year-old daughter was emotionally ready to handle this; and perhaps more importantly, she didn't know if _she _was emotionally prepared to handle this.

Cuddy looked up as she heard her door swing open. She quickly cleared her throat and attempted to make herself look busy, brushing the letter aside for the time being. She fixed her eyes on her computer, pretending not to notice House leering over her desk.

He scoffed.

"What you got there?" he asked, nodding his head in the direction of the letter.

Cuddy gave him an innocent look.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, shrugging him off as she turned off her computer. She wasn't ready to have this conversation with; she already knew what his opinion would be. "We should go. Her game is starting soon," she said, pretending to check her watch distractedly.

House smirked as they both realized she wasn't even wearing a watch.

"Do you have a secret love letter happening? Because if that's the case, it's not only inappropriate and mean, it's pathetically uncreative," he joked, giving her a mocking smile.

Cuddy gave him a slight smile.

"It's nothing," she said, defeated. He raised his eyebrows at her. She took a deep breath and reached for the letter, wordlessly gesturing for him to sit down in the chair across from her. "It came earlier this morning," she confessed, handing him the letter. "I couldn't open it until now."

He nodded as his eyes scanned the page; he didn't bother to read every word. He knew what it was the moment he saw the zip code on the return address.

"You knew it would happen one day," he said, throwing the letter back on the desk. He shrugged as he relaxed into the chair, letting his cane rest up against the side. She studied his face; it was completely blank.

Cuddy nodded.

"I guess I have to decide what to do about it," she said, half to him and half to herself. She reached for the letter and tucked it safely into her briefcase, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

House gave her a quizzical look.

"That's not exactly your decision to make," he said, raising his eyebrows at her.

Cuddy's eyes widened.

"What are you talking about? I'm her mother. Did you even read what that letter said?"

"Yeah," he answered pointedly, narrowing his eyes at her. "I read the part where Rachel's biological father respects you enough to go through you in an attempt to get to her. If I were him I would have skipped over you entirely."

Cuddy folded her arms across her chest, exasperated over his insinuation.

"So you're taking his side?" she asked angrily, her voice becoming louder than she anticipated.

"No," he said matter-of-factly, "I'm taking hers. You might want to try it."

Cuddy tightened her arms across her chest, silently fuming as she rolled her eyes.

"I'm trying to protect her," she said definitively. "You think she's ready to handle all of this? She's barely sixteen."

"I think she's more than ready to handle this," he answered confidently, nodding his head at her. "You're the one I'm worried about."

Cuddy sighed. It would have been sweet if it wasn't so goddamned condescending.

"I don't know what to do," she said softly, meeting House's eyes. "She's still a baby to me," she whispered, a soft smile escaping her lips. "She's always going to be a baby. But this…this will change everything."

House looked over at his wife. His wife. They'd been married for almost ten years and it still felt weird calling her that. He knew that Cuddy and Rachel had a bond unlike most teenage girls and their mothers; Cuddy was her mother, but she was also her friend. Rachel had never felt the need to keep secrets from them—from either one of them, really—and up until this point, Cuddy had balanced the two roles she played in her daughter's life to a tee. She knew when to discipline and when to listen; when to give advice and when to console; she knew exactly what to do in every situation.

Cuddy was a great friend to Rachel. But she was an even better mother.

"You have to show it to her," he said simply. "This isn't your decision to make, Cuddy. It's up to her. She gets to decide who is in her life, not you."

Cuddy shook her head, her lips pursed in discontent.

"She's sixteen!" she protested, her eyes widening in frustration. "She's my daughter. You don't think that gives me a right to decide who wanders in and out of her life?"

"This isn't some teenage boy who wants to get up her skirt," he pointed out, ignoring the look of disgust that Cuddy gave him. "And yeah, you better get ready for that one, too. He's her father, Cuddy. He's not going anywhere. Might as well make peace with it now."

Cuddy shook her head and stood up, gripping onto her briefcase with her recently manicured hand.

"She's not ready," she said simply, her eyes fixed on his as she walked out from behind her desk. "I don't want to discuss this any more. Come on, we're going to be late for the game."

They walked out of her office in silence, both more pissed off than they cared to admit. Him, because she failed to understand what kind of damage keeping this secret could cause, and her, because deep down, she knew just how right he was.

About all of it.

* * *

Cuddy tapped her heels on the metal bleachers, turning her head as she searched for her daughter in a sea of ponytails. She knew Rachel played center midfield, which made it almost impossible to find her; she was constantly up and down the field.

She glanced over at House. He was leaning up against the fence, his cane propped up at the side as he followed the game; he never had any trouble finding Rachel, which infuriated her to no end—especially when he decided that it would be better to lean up against the fence that sit with her for the next two hours.

Cuddy sighed. She didn't exactly click with any of the other mothers. Most of them were stay at home moms who showed up to the games in their sporty chic wear and blown out ponytails, while she usually came straight from work and had to make her way to the bleachers in impossibly high Jimmy Choos. But every now and then she'd remember to pack a pair of jeans and some flats, and the other mothers would be all over her. House said it was because she intimidated them, but she wasn't so sure. She just didn't have that much in common with them; she didn't fault them for that.

She glared over at House before turning her attention back to the game. She knew his leg had to be killing him, but he was too stubborn to come sit down and she was too stubborn to go and see if he was okay. She rolled her eyes. She understood where he was coming from; she knew that he had never known his _real _father, and that it affected him more than he cared to admit, but she also knew that House and Rachel were completely different people. They didn't react to things the same way. Not knowing ate him away; knowing might destroy her fairy-tale perception. They never really talked about her biological parents, but Cuddy knew Rachel had quite the imagination.

She just didn't want her daughter to be disappointed.

Cuddy swept her straightened hair up into a ponytail, wrapping a loose strand around the elastic, smiling to herself as she caught sight of her daughter on the field. She watched as Rachel expertly dribbled the ball down the field, moving around the opposing team with quick taps of the ball and various tricks; Cuddy thought the moves were called dodges, but she wasn't completely sure. She smiled as Rachel effortlessly sent the ball flying down the field to one of her teammates.

She lost sight of her when she felt someone slide into the seat next to her.

"Hey," said Amelia, slightly out of breath as she flipped her long blonde hair onto the side of her shoulder. "Sorry I'm late, I wasn't sure I could make it. What's the score? Are we winning? And why is House off brooding all by himself?"

Cuddy sighed, shaking her head at Amelia's antics. She was always five minutes late and full of questions.

"I have no idea if we're winning because I have no idea what the score is, and House is standing over there because we're in a fight. Sort of."

"A fight?" she asked, half concerned and half curious. "About what? Did he shave again? Because I am in complete agreement with you, he looks so much better with a little disheveled scruff."

Cuddy let out a slight laugh and turned towards her friend. "This is a little more serious than stubble," she answered, sighing as she turned her head towards where he was standing. She saw him reach down to rub his leg, feeling a pang of guilt as she watched him. "I got a letter from Rachel's father," she admitted.

Amelia's face softened, her mouth hanging slightly open and her eyes immediately widening. She gave Cuddy a sympathetic look.

"What did he say? Does he want something?" she asked earnestly, making sure to keep her voice to a low whisper. They were seated far enough away from the other moms, but she still thought the topic warranted for hushed tones.

Cuddy shrugged.

"I don't know what he wants, exactly. He wants to talk to her, obviously, but after that…" he voice trailed and she sighed, bringing a hand to her temple. "I'm just not sure she's ready for this. She's still so young."

Amelia nodded along, placing a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder, rubbing it gently for a few moments. She'd hadn't seen Cuddy this distraught over something in years.

"What did House say about this? I take it he disagrees with you?" she asked, making sure not to offer up her opinion unless she was directly asked for it; this wasn't her decision to make.

Cuddy nodded.

"He thinks it's wrong to hide this from her. Thinks she should be able to decide on her own. And I get that, but I don't know. She's my daughter. How am I supposed to react?"

Amelia sighed.

"Like this. Like any other mother would. Adoption can be tough on kids, but sometimes it can be harder on the adoptive parents. I can't tell you what to do," she said, giving her a soft smile. Cuddy nodded; she wasn't looking for someone to tell her she was right or wrong. "But whatever it is that you decide, you and House have to be on the same page. It's not going to work if you're on different sides."

"I know," she said, sighing as she answered. Her gaze lingered over towards House, who was now slightly more hunched over, his arms resting on the fence. "I should go check on him."

Amelia nodded. "Good idea," she said, giving Cuddy a supportive smile. Her gaze shifted to the field when she heard the familiar sound of a ball banging against the backboard of the goal. "But before you do, you might want to clap. I think Rachel just scored. Or maybe it was one of the other skinny girls with a brown ponytail. I can never be sure."

Cuddy let out a slight laugh as she started to clap, scanning the field for her daughter. She smiled as she saw her jogging back towards the midfield line with the ball in her hand, which meant she had been the one responsible for the goal.

She watched as Rachel looked over to the stands, giving her mom an excited look, followed by a perplexed one as she saw House standing off to the side. Cuddy watched as Rachel shook her head in amusement, undoubtedly assuming that they were fighting over something trivial.

And as she got up, Cuddy was plagued by the sinking feeling that her daughter would soon realize that not everything in the world was so innocent.

"You should come sit down," Cuddy said, turning so that she was facing him. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a sympathetic look. He shrugged.

"I'm fine," he said simply, turning his attention back to the field. He sighed when he realized it was half time and the field was empty.

"House," she began tiredly, giving him a pleading look. She didn't have the energy to be fighting with him. He sighed and turned towards her. "I don't want to fight with you about this."

He shrugged, as if not believing her. "Then don't," he stated simply, giving her a mocking smile. She rolled her eyes. "It's as easy as that."

"You're unbelievable," she muttered, turning to walk away from him. She paused mid-step and turned around, folding her arms over her chest and giving him a glaring look. "You are so wrapped up in your own mind that you can't even _begin_ to understand where I'm coming from," she hissed.

"I do understand where you're coming from," he fired back, gritting his teeth so not to raise his voice. "I just don't agree with it. And you can't handle that."

Cuddy shook her head.

"No. What I can't handle is letting my daughter get in touch with this man only to be disappointed. That's what I can't handle."

"What could she possibly be disappointed by?" he argued, throwing his hand out to the side. "She knows he was a teenager when she was born. She's aware of the situation he was in. She's not a moron, Cuddy. And frankly, she doesn't need as much protection as you think she does."

"I know she's not a moron," Cuddy fired back defensively. "She's independent and smart and ambitious but she's also _human_. It's going to be difficult for her to come to terms with the situation."

House scoffed.

"It's going to be difficult no matter _when _it happens. It would be difficult if she were thirty. Age has nothing to do with it. The sooner you realize that the better off everyone else is," he added calmly, turning to look at her.

Cuddy nodded, her head bowed and her arms folded over her chest. She knew he was right, that she was being overly cautious and slightly untrusting of her own daughter, but as prepared as she was for something like this, she still felt uneasy. After sixteen years, she figured she'd earned that right.

"Look," he said, speaking to her softer than he had a few moments ago. He turned to face her and she took a few steps towards him, her head still bowed. He extended his arm out to her elbow, tugging at it gently. She lifted her head up. "You're under this naïve impression that if Rachel gets to know her dad she will suddenly stop loving you. That's not going to happen."

Cuddy cast her eyes to ground, letting out a slight sniffle. "How do you know?" she asked softly, lifting her eyes to meet his.

"It's impossible to stop loving you," he said, joking with her as he gently nudged her arm. She rolled her eyes and let out a slight laugh. "I'm serious, Cuddy. There are about ten thousand ways this could all go very, horribly wrong, but no matter what happens, you'll never stop being her mom."

Cuddy nodded, a small smile escaping her lips as House extended his arm out to her. She scooted closer to him, letting him wrap his arm around her waist as she clung to his side. She turned her head towards him.

"You were wrong before," she whispered, looking at him. He eyed her quizzically, trying to figure out which part of his argument she was going to refute next. "He's not Rachel's dad. You are."

* * *

"So, as I was saying, I was trying to finish this drawing I'd been working on for like, two weeks, when the bell rang. And my teacher wasn't there so we had a substitute, and she was all "You have to go to your next class, I'm not writing you a pass," which number one, is rude, and number two, is an act that I consider to be detrimental to my creative process," said Rachel, shrugging her shoulders as she grabbed a slice of pizza from the table. I mean, how would you feel if someone was suddenly all 'Sorry, you have to stop Doctering right now."? It's rude," she said, chewing as fast as she could.

House smirked. "If you got sent to the principle's office for refusing to leave class I am officially disowning you," he said. "At least try to steal some of the art supplies or something."

Rachel smiled innocently, her eyes shifting over to her backpack. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Rachel," hissed Cuddy slightly disapprovingly, giving her a playful glare.

"What?" she asked innocently. Cuddy stared her down and she sighed, taking another bite of pizza. "It's not like any of the other kids know how to use them," she argued. "Or take care of them, for that matter. Really, I'm doing the pencils a favor. They deserve to be owned by someone who will love them."

"You're right, stealing is completely acceptable when it's justified," Cuddy said sarcastically, giving her daughter a pointed look. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Rachel beamed triumphantly. "I'm so glad we're on the same page. Speaking of which," said Rachel, taking another bite of her pizza.

"You know every once in a while you might want to think about taking a breath or two," House said, sliding the plate away from her while she talked.

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Speaking of which," she repeated, giving House a playful glare, "do you guys want to tell me what you were so _openly _arguing about during half time? The team would not shut up about the two of you. By the way Mom, Michaela wants to know where you bought your shoes."

"Don't worry about it," said Cuddy sweetly. "Finish your dinner."

"Don't worry about the argument or the shoes? Because I told Michaela that the shoes were probably too expensive for her, but who knows with her parents these days. I mean ever since her dad cheated on her mom he's been doing everything he can to get back on her good side. Before you know it she'll have four summer houses instead of two."

"She only has two summer houses?" House asked mockingly, shaking his head in feigned disgust. "What kind of school are we sending you to? We're supposed to be exposing you to snobby elitists so you'll develop the sense that you're better than everyone else." He looked over at Cuddy, who was shaking her head disapprovingly. "We've failed her."

"That's enough," said Cuddy, a slight smile on her face. "So besides _stealing_ art supplies, how was the rest of your day?"

Rachel shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh you know, the usual. Michaela and Alexandra got in the _biggest_ fight during lunch, which of course, made fifth period super awkward for Emma and me. It's like the two of them can't _function_ if they're not arguing. Whatever. I got an A on a Calculus test and an A+ on my English paper, so it was just a regular Tuesday afternoon. Can we go back to the argument, please? Your attempt to skirt over the issue was disappointingly underwhelming."

Cuddy looked down at her salad, clearing her throat as she distractedly forked through the remains of her dinner. She looked over at House, who was eyeing her suspiciously, waiting for her to make the first move; this wasn't his story tell.

Cuddy cleared her throat once more, reaching fro her wine glass and taking an unusually long sip. House sighed, knowing she wasn't going to say a word.

"Your mom won't have sex with me at work. It's becoming an issue," he deadpanned.

Cuddy scoffed, swatting him on the arm while silently thanking him for not telling the truth; it simply wasn't the time or place.

Rachel laughed good-naturedly, rolling her eyes as she shook her head.

"You guys are so gross."

* * *

Cuddy tossed and turned restlessly, readjusting the pillows every five seconds. She turned over and looked at House, who was skimming a medical journal, his glassed perched on his nose.

"We should have told her the truth," he mused, not looking up from the article he was reading. "She knows we were lying."

Cuddy nodded, sighing as she scooted closer to him. She abandoned the pillows for his chest, curling up into his side. He wrapped his arm around her, his fingers rubbing up and down the side of her arm.

"I know," she whispered, sighing as the day's events finally registered with her. "I'll tell her. I just…I need some more time." House turned his head, giving her a pointed look; they both knew that if she didn't tell her soon, she never would. "I will tell her by this weekend. Promise," she said confidently, smiling up at him as she held out her pinkie.

House rolled his eyes and shut the medical journal, letting it drop to the floor as he held out his pinkie to her. They linked them together, laughing as they moved their joined hands up and down. As a kid, Rachel had been _obsessed_ with making pinkie swears. Somehow, over the years, the tradition had yet to die out.

"House," said Cuddy earnestly, looking up at him. He mumbled something in reply as he turned his head towards her. "I'm sorry. I know this topic can be sensitive for you, and you were right, it's not fair to hide this from her. And it's ridiculous that I feel the need to say this after all this time, but if you need to talk abut anything, I'm here."

House nodded.

"I know," he said. "Hit the light, will you?"

Cuddy gave him a perplexed look, sitting up and propping herself up on her elbow.

"You know?" she repeated, her hair falling over her shoulder as she tilted her head. "That's all you have to say?"

House shrugged.

"Well it would be redundant of me to agree with you on me being right," he said. "That's usually a given, anyway." Cuddy rolled her eyes as she curled in tighter to his side. "I know I can talk to you, Cuddy. I've always known that."

"Okay," she whispered softly, closing her eyes as she breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Goodnight," she said, yawning as she relaxed into his touch.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead before settling in next to her.

* * *

Rachel Cuddy tiptoed through the house, careful not to make any noise as she made her way to her parent's bedroom. She was completely alone, but for some reason, she still felt the need to be as quiet as possible—probably because she knew she was doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing.

But they were just _shoes_. Her mom had hundreds of them; surely she wouldn't notice if one of them had gone missing for a few hours. Rachel opened the door to their bedroom, cringing as the door slightly creaked. She smirked as she walked in, noticing that half of the room was spotless while the other half was in complete disarray.

She opened the door to her mother's closet, searching for the pair of shoes she'd had in mind when she planned her outfit earlier that morning. One of her friends was throwing a party on the top of the fancy hotel that her father owned in DC; the party was bound to be glamorous and over the top, so she and her best friend, Emma, would go for all of one hour and then sneak out to catch a movie or wander around one of the art museums.

She grinned triumphantly as she found the black Jimmy Choos she'd been searching for.

But as she walked out of her parent's bedroom, her eyes caught something that had been tucked underneath her mother's vanity mirror. It was an envelope, but from the looks of it, the seal had already been broken. She paused, curiosity getting the best of her. She set the shoes down on the ground and reached for the letter, her heart stopping as she glanced over the return address.

She recognized the zip code. She recognized the name.

* * *

_Fun fact: I'm posting this on the one year anniversary of the original story. Everybody say awwww. Leave a review!_

_-Alison_


	2. 2

_A/N: erm, hi. This clearly took much longer to crank out than I anticipated, but hey, what can you do? I won't bore you with any more excuses (I don't really have any, anyway). Read away!_

* * *

Rachel Cuddy took a deep calming breath, her toes curling into her yoga mat as she lunged forward, her eyes focusing on the painting on the living room wall as she tried to ignore the letter that was sitting on the coffee table.

She was furious.

Furious that her mother hid the letter from her, that _he _was contacting her after all this time, that she felt like she owed him something, even though she knew she didn't. She exhaled and lifted her arms up, clasping her palms together and twisting her torso to the side.

Her eyes drifted towards the coffee table. She'd gotten as far as ripping the seal open, but couldn't bring herself to read it. But she wasn't stupid. She could guess the letter was filled with guilt-ridden apologies and pleas for forgiveness or absolution, but she wasn't sure she was interested in any of that.

She had a family. She had a best friend. She had Amelia and Joey. She wasn't sure she needed anyone else. She wasn't sure she _wanted_ anyone else.

She extended her front leg towards her back leg; her palms fell to the mat as she lifted her hips up and let her head fall, her hair spilling in front of her face. She took a deep breath as she heard the front door open.

"What are you doing?" Cuddy asked, her brow furrowing as she spotted her daughter in the middle of the living room. Rachel hardly ever did yoga, and when she did, it was at a class at the gym.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" muttered Rachel under her breath. She rolled her eyes and stood up straight, glaring down at her yoga mat. She grabbed her water bottle and collapsed onto the couch, her arms folding over her chest as she scanned the room. "Where's House?" she asked, watching as her mother made her way into the living.

"Finishing up some paperwork at the hospital," she answered, watching as Rachel's eyes roamed around the room before she settled them on the coffee table. "He'll be home soon," she said. Rachel nodded in response and started to anxiously tap her foot on the hardwood floor. "Is everything okay? You seem a little on edge."

Rachel sighed, rolling her eyes once more. She reached forward and grabbed the letter from the coffee table, shoving it towards Cuddy.

"I found it when I was looking for shoes," she said, her shoulders dropping as she met her mother's eyes. "And before you get mad at me for snooping, try and remember that I'm the only one who has any right to be pissed off right now."

Cuddy's shoulders dropped as she took the letter into her hands, her daughter's bright blue questioning eyes starting up at her. "I was going to tell you," Cuddy said, sitting down in the chair next to Rachel.

"Really?" asked Rachel, raising her eyebrows as she shook her head. "Because it seems to me like you were trying to hide it."

Cuddy sighed.

"I was waiting for the right time," Cuddy answered diplomatically, her voice soft but firm; she still wasn't convinced Rachel was ready to deal with this.

"There is no right time!" Rachel exclaimed, standing up and walking towards the middle of the living room. She threw her hair up into a loose ponytail as she started to pace back and forth. "Do you have a timetable for when I'm 'ready'? Pie charts? Spread sheets? God, Mom, this isn't your decision to make."

"Rachel, I know you're upset—"

"Upset?" Rachel interrupted. "Yeah, sure, I'm upset. I get that you're trying to protect me or whatever. You're my mom, that's your job. But you've never hid anything from me. When I asked you about my biological parents, you told me. When I asked you about House's past, you told me. But this…you hide this? Of all things? It doesn't make sense."

Cuddy sighed and stood up, walking over to Rachel. She placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders, cringing as Rachel immediately recoiled. Cuddy gave her a sympathetic look as she slowly backed away.

"This is what I was afraid of," she said, shaking her head as she lifted a hand to her face. "I know you're upset with me. But you have to understand that I'm trying to keep you from getting hurt."

"Why are you so convinced that this has to end badly? I know it's weird and out of the blue, but….but it could be a good thing."

Cuddy shook her head.

"What exactly do you think is going to happen, Rachel? What are you going to do, become pen pals? Grab coffee every third Sunday of the month? He can't just show up out of nowhere and demand to be a part of your life."

"I don't know what's going to happen!" she cried out, tears welling in her eyes. "I don't know who he is, or what he's like, or what he wants. I don't know _anything_, Mom. And as much as I love you and House and everyone else in my life, there is a part of me that doesn't know who I am, where I come from. And that's not fair."

"Rachel," Cuddy said softly a hint of sympathy in her voice. She took her daughter by the arm and led her over to the couch. "I know this is hard, but you have to remember that he didn't raise you. He wasn't there when you took your first step or spoke your first word. He wasn't the first person you said: "I love you" to. I know you have questions, and I've done the best I can to answer them over the years, but you have to realize that he might not have all the answers either."

Rachel shook her head, unconvinced by her mother's rationalizations.

"So what am I supposed to do? Ignore him? Because if I do that, you can pretty much guarantee that he'll never try to get back in touch with me. But that's probably what you want, isn't it?" she added spitefully, folding her arms over her chest and giving Cuddy an icy glare.

"I never said that," Cuddy said calmly, trying to ignore the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. "But you might want to think really hard about what you're implying, Rachel."

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"I'm not stupid, Mom. I know what's going on in the back of your head," she said, sighing as she rested her elbows on her thighs, her head falling into her hands. Cuddy placed a tentative hand on Rachel's shoulder, slowly moving it up before gently stroking her hair.

Rachel took a deep breath and looked over at Cuddy. Cuddy's face softened as she noticed the redness in her daughter's eyes.

"Did you ever think that this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with him? With her?"

Cuddy sighed; she'd never been able to answer questions about Rachel's mother.

"Rachel," Cuddy said softly, thinking that maybe if she just kept repeating her name, she would understand that she was just as confused as she was; that she couldn't pull her daughter into her arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, because she wasn't sure that it would be.

"No Mom, listen to me," Rachel pleaded, wiping her tears away as she sucked in her breath. "I have questions, questions that you can't answer. But he…he might be able to. And it's not fair to keep me away from him, you know it's not. And it wasn't fair for you to hide that letter from me, either."

Rachel got up from the couch, angrily pulling the elastic from her hair and running her hand through her thick brown locks.

"Rachel," called Cuddy, her voice firmer then it had ever been. "As much as you might dislike me at the moment, I'm still your mother. You can stomp around all you want, but you will _not_ make me feel guilty about trying to protect you."

Rachel scoffed, rolling her eyes as she grabbed her bag from the coffee table and stuffed the letter inside. She made her way towards the front door, refusing to meet the undoubtedly hurt look that was plastered across her mother's face; she knew her words had to sting, but she simply couldn't find the energy to care.

"Whatever, Mom," she said, making sure to slam the door on her way out.

* * *

She practically slammed into him on the way out the door.

"Don't worry about it, it's not like I'm a crippled or anything," House joked offhandedly, smirking to himself as Rachel cast her eyes to the ground.

"Sorry," she murmured, choking back the tears that had suddenly resurfaced. "Mom's inside. And she's either really upset or really pissed off, so you might want to prepare yourself."

House sighed, his shoulders dropping as he looked down at Rachel. Her eyes were slightly puffy and her hair was in slight disarray, and her baggy white v-neck tee and leggings suggested that she hadn't planned on leaving the house that very minute.

He spotted her oversized black leather tote and groaned.

"You found it, didn't you?"

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Of course you knew," she muttered, slightly outraged that he hadn't told her. "Any reason you joined Mom in the treasonous act of keeping secrets from me?"

"Treason usually has to do with _revealing_ secrets, but good try," he said, causing her to scoff in annoyance. "Look, your mom wasn't trying to hurt you, she was trying to—"

"Protect me, I know," Rachel repeated robotically. "Did you guys ever think that I didn't need protection? That I'm perfectly capable of handling this on my own?"

"Because you're handling this so well," he said mockingly, raising his eyebrows at her. "You're a teenager, so I'm sure you said something spiteful and incredibly insensitive, but when you're off ranting to your best friend about how much your life sucks, try and remember that you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her, okay?"

Rachel sighed. She hated when he pulled that card.

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, readjusting the strap on her bag and letting her hair spill over her shoulder. "Mom is awesome and I'm horrible. I get it. I'm going to Emma's, I'll be back tomorrow."

"Did you tell your Mom that?"

Rachel shrugged.

"I'm telling you, aren't I? I'm sure you can relay the message," she said, swiftly walking down the steps and heading down the street. She was lucky her best friend lived within walking distance.

House rolled his eyes as he called out:

"Lovely speaking with you!"

* * *

"You know, she was a lot more fun when she was eight," House said, sighing as he walked into the house. He set his cane against the end table and slipped off his jacket, throwing it towards the wall and hoping that one of the hooks would catch it. "Wasn't so moody, wore less leather, sunnier disposition," he mused.

Cuddy sighed from the couch, her arms folded across her chest as she stared off into the distance, his words barely registering with her.

"I assume she filled you in," said Cuddy, glancing over at him as he made his way over to her. He sat down on the couch, placing his hand on her knee and giving it a light squeeze.

He nudged her playfully. "I'd say I told you so, but that would be insensitive. I'm sure you're already thinking it anyway."

She turned her head towards him. "I meant to tell her sooner, I just…"

"You were scared," he pointed out, shrugging his shoulders. "She knows that. She'll be fine by the morning."

"I'm not so sure," whispered Cuddy, her head shaking in disbelief. "You weren't here…the things she said. The things she _wanted_ to say, I—I've never seen her so upset. I feel like I made everything worse."

House sighed. This was not the Friday night he envisioned when he left the hospital an hour ago.

"Did she say what she was going to do?"

Cuddy shook her head.

"We didn't get that far. The conversation pretty much started with an 'I can't believe you did this' and ended with a 'whatever, Mom.' She yelled, she cried, she yelled some more. Not exactly a shining moment for either one of us," she said, sighing as she relaxed back into the couch.

He draped his hand across her legs, scrunching up his face as he tried to find the right words. Cuddy groaned. "Go ahead," she ordered, throwing her hand out to the side. "Say whatever it is you have to say. Rachel definitely didn't hold back, no reason you should either."

"You're her mom, " he said, shrugging his shoulders. "You raised her. Nothing will change that."

"But," she conceded, shifting her gaze towards his as she absentmindedly fiddled with the rings on her finger.

"But," he continued, stressing the word, "you didn't give birth to her. She deserves to know who did. And if he can help her with that, then we should let him. Trust me, not knowing will eat her alive."

She sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment. "Sometimes I can't decide if your rationality is a blessing or a curse," she murmured, reopening her eyes and meeting the smirk that was plastered on his face.

He shrugged.

"Just call me the human paradox," he answered.

Cuddy let out a slight laugh as her head fell to his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, his fingers traipsing up and down her side.

"House," she whispered, her voice soft and afraid. She shifted her gaze towards him. "Tell me everything is going to be okay."

His eyes met hers.

"Everything is going to be okay."

And even though neither one of them knew what was going to happen, they did know one thing: Rachel was their daughter. Nothing would ever change that.

* * *

"It's unbelievable!" Rachel cried out, pacing back and forth in her best friends room. "I mean _seriously unbelievable. _First he sends me this letter out of the blue, then my mom _hides_ it from me, thinking that I'd never find it even though she knows I go through her closet, and it's just…it's unreal, that's what it is."

"Totally," said Emma, Rachel's best friend for almost ten years. Emma was sitting on her bed, listening to Rachel rant while she absentmindedly filed her nails, looking up every once in a while to make sure her best friend was still breathing.

Rachel nodded as she continued.

"And I don't even know who I'm more pissed at. I mean, it was a really shitty thing for my mom to do. Like, really shitty. But what about House? He's not exactly innocent, either. God, I can't believe they didn't tell me."

Emma bit down on her bottom lip, casting her nail file off to the side as she swept her long blonde hair into a sleek ponytail. She patted the spot next to her on the bed, motioning for Rachel to come and sit down.

Rachel gave her a hesitant look before making her way over.

"Rachel," said Emma, drawing her attention towards her. She placed her hands on her friend's shoulders, her green eyes locking with Rachel's blue ones. "You know how much I love you. I would do anything for you. Take you to some weird art gallery, let you cheat off of me in Calculus—"

"I don't need to cheat off of you in Calculus," Rachel interrupted.

Emma glared at her as she continued. "You get the point. You're my best friend, I am on your side one hundred percent of the time."

Rachel sighed. "But…"

Emma nodded. "But, I think you might want to cut your mom a little slack. She's just looking out for you. Listen, last Christmas my mom told me that my Dad wanted me to go and spend a week with him up in the mountains, but my mom told him that I wasn't allowed to go. Do you know what really happened? My Dad never even called. He knew I had a break from school and he didn't even bother to wish me a Merry Christmas, let alone invite me to spend time with him. My mom made up some bullshit lie so she could protect me from the truth. As misguided as your mom might have been, she's trying to keep your from getting hurt."

Rachel sighed; sometimes she wasn't sure who had it worse when it came to biological parents.

"I know, but she should have—"

"Yes, she should have told you about the letter when she got it. But she didn't. There is no use in getting all worked up over it and pulling the teenage angst card."

Rachel scoffed. "I am _not_ pulling the teenage angst card!" she exclaimed, furrowing her brow and giving her friend a slightly offended look.

"Sorry kid, but you kinda are," she answered simply. "Don't feel too bad though, I pulled that card every chance I got when my parents were going through their divorce. Look, this is what we're going to do."

"We?" Rachel asked primly, raising her eyebrows at her friend. "I wasn't aware this was a joint effort."

Emma scoffed.

"Um, you kind of made it a joint effort when you showed up at my house with tears streaming down your face and a letter that you probably haven't even read stuffed in that giant leather tote of yours."

Rachel sighed. "Fine, just tell me what to do."

"I'm going to get in the shower. While I'm gone, I want you to read that letter as many times as you want. Read it once, read it a hundred times, I don't care. Just _read _it. When I get back, we're going to paint our nails, put on a facemask, and watch hours and hours of Gilmore Girls to remind us of how much we love our mothers, okay? And we're not going to talk about this anymore."

"Why not?" Rachel asked, disappointed by Emma's last suggestion. If she couldn't talk to her, who could she talk to?

"Because I'm not the first person you should be having that conversation with."

* * *

Rachel Cuddy stirred uncomfortably in Emma's bed, tossing and turning as she tried to force herself to go to sleep. She felt Emma kick her in her sleep and she let out a slight laugh as she slipped out of the bed. She dug into her purse, her fingers immediately finding the jagged edge of the letter.

She'd read it three times before deciding that she'd had enough. It was nearing two in the morning, and she thought about reading it again, but there was no point; the words would still be the same. It was what she expected: different variations of apologies, countless pleas for forgiveness, questions about her life, etc. etc.

She didn't want to look at it again. Instead, she grabbed her phone and crept into Emma's walk-in closet, settling herself in a pile of designer duffle bags. Emma had this weird obsession with luggage.

She took a deep breath as she selected "Mom" from her contact list. She smiled when Cuddy picked up on the second ring.

"Rachel? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she answered. "Well, kind of. I'm sorry, I know it's like two in the morning but Emma said that I needed to talk to you and not her, and she's right but I didn't want to wait until morning and she would _freak_ out if I just up and left in the middle of the night and I'm…I'm sorry," she said, slightly out of breath as she slowed her words down.

"Oh, honey—"

"No, really Mom. I'm sorry. For everything I said earlier, for being so mad at you. I know—I know you were just doing what you thought was right. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

Cuddy sighed on the other end of the line, her arm brushing against House as she tiptoed out of bed. She smirked as he started to snore.

"I'm sorry too," she whispered, walking towards her own closet. She opened the door as quietly as she could, grabbing a blanket that hung on the chair before collapsing onto the hardwood floor. She shoved a pair of Manolos to the side as she got comfortable. "I should have told you about the letter when I got it. You're right, it's your decision to make."

"You were just trying to protect me," Rachel insisted, readjusting slightly. "I jumped to conclusions. I said some really horrible things to you, Mom. I didn't mean them, I was just upset and well…I just snapped. You know I think you're the greatest mom in the entire world."

Cuddy let out a slight laugh.

"I know," she said. "I have the coffee mug you made me in fourth grade to prove it."

"I can't believe you kept that," Rachel said, laughter filling her voice. "What about the clay hand I made you? The one that somehow came out with six fingers?"

"It's all in a box in my closet. I'm sure you'll stumble across it one day while you're searching for my Jimmy Choos," Cuddy said suggestively, giving her daughter a pointed look from the other end of the phone.

Rachel shrugged and smiled innocently. "So I read the letter."

"Are you okay?" asked Cuddy, a hint of concern in her voice.

"Yeah, I'm okay. There's just so much stuff I don't know."

"About him?"

Rachel shrugged. "About everything. Him, my mother, the hospital—I mean I've heard stories from you and House, and I feel like that place is such a part of who you guys are and I—well I never got to experience it. Maybe that's for the best, I don't know. But I've made a decision. I want to go to Princeton. And I want you and House to come with me."

* * *

_fun fact: I made a clay hand in fourth grade, and it really did come out with six fingers. I still don't know how that happened. And before you get on me about how much of a brat Rachel Cuddy can be, try and remember what you were like when you were sixteen. Then add having House and Cuddy as your parents. Heh. Leave a review!_

_-Alison_


	3. 3

_A/N: Originally, I was going to make this three chapters, but I got to the end of a section and thought the ending sentence was fitting. So, dear readers, now you're getting four chapters. The next chapter will take place in Princeton. Enjoy!_

* * *

Rachel Cuddy sighed as she thumbed through her closet, her fingers traipsing over the fabrics as she mulled over the options. She frowned and turned her head towards her bed, where Amelia was lounging on the pillows and flipping through Rachel's most recent issue of Vogue.

"What does one even wear to meet their biological father for the first time?" she asked, sighing as she leaned against the door to her walk in closet.

It had been about a month since Rachel had received the letter from Simon. They'd exchanged a few back and forth, and after having some convincing—albeit slightly uncomfortable—talks with her mother, they'd made plans to meet up in Princeton in a few days.

"You're asking the wrong person, babe," Amelia murmured, looking up from the magazine as she shrugged her shoulders. "I don't even know how to pronounce some of these designers," she joked, flipping the page dramatically.

Rachel shook her head good-naturedly. Amelia had a simple but edgy type of look. She'd throw on a silk blouse with a pair of skinny jeans and studded converses and _still_ manage to look fabulous. Rachel was more dramatic; statement jewelry, pops of color, and embellished pieces were scattered throughout her wardrobe.

"More importantly," Amelia continued, sitting up straight and giving Rachel a pointed look. "What on _earth _am I going to do without the three of you for the next few days? I'm going to get in so much trouble without the distraction," she muttered off into the distance.

Rachel let out a slight laugh before turning to her closet. She selected a long sleeved black shirt and an embellished mini skirt before making her way over to her bed.

"Here's a thought," she said, smiling brightly at Amelia while she neatly folded her clothes into her suitcase. "Why don't you _finally_ tell Joey that you're going to marry him? How many years has it been since he asked you, anyway?"

Amelia shrugged. "I've lost count," she said offhandedly. "We're practically married anyway. Marriage is just…it's just a silly little piece of paper."

"Then why are you so scared to do it?" she retorted primly, arching her eyebrows as she continued to fold her clothes.

Amelia smirked. "Your mother put you up to this, didn't she?"

Rachel shook her head. "No, this is all coming from me. I just want…I just want you to be happy. Because you deserve it, and you deserve to have a family, and…and I know Joey is patient, but I just worry one day he's going to wake up and realize that there might be a girl out there who is one hundred percent committed to him. And maybe it's selfish, but I like him in my life. I just don't want everything to fall apart."

Amelia smiled sympathetically at Rachel and took her hand, forcing her to let go of the clothes she was gripping so tightly.

"Sweetie, listen to me," said Amelia, her green eyes meeting Rachel's blue ones. She smiled widely at her. "Joey is not going anywhere. We have a great life together, it's just not—it's just not as official as some other people's. I don't even know if official is the right word," she said, her laughter emitting into the air. Rachel smiled sheepishly. "Let me see if I can put this into perspective. Say your Mom and House weren't married—"

"But they are," interrupted Rachel. "That's like, my whole point."

"I know," Amelia conceded, nodding her head in agreement. "But hypothetically, say they weren't. Would you worry about House leaving you and your mom?"

Rachel sighed, her eyes cast downward. She didn't remember a time when House wasn't in her life. There were gaps—mostly from when she was younger—but she didn't remember them well. His presence always seemed to loom over her. It was a positively challenging loom that easily shifted from entertainment to annoyance, but it had always been _there_.

"Of course not," she answered proudly.

Amelia nodded. "Exactly," she said, gently nudging Rachel's knee. "I hate that you worry about me, of all people. That's not how our relationship is supposed to work."

Rachel shrugged. "None of my relationships with adults are functional," she answered, a smile on her face.

Amelia let out a slight laugh. "Joey knows how much I love him. And I know how much he loves me. The rest is just—the rest just doesn't matter as much."

Rachel nodded. "As long as you're sure."

"Positive," she answered, beaming down at Rachel.

Rachel nodded and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, biting down on her bottom lip as she returned to her clothes. She picked up a sweater, folding it and refolding it countless times. Amelia's face softened; it was Rachel's signature sign of distress.

"Hey," Amelia said softly, taking the sweater from Rachel's hands. "Let's shift gears for a minute. What's _really _going on inside that head of yours?" she asked, knowing that Rachel's favorite form of distraction was focusing the conversation on someone else.

Rachel shrugged. "I don't know," she said softly. "Just nerves, I guess. I mean, this is kind of a huge deal, isn't it?"

"It doesn't have to be," Amelia answered diplomatically. "Look, Simon is just—he's just another guy. He's responsible for your genetic makeup. He's not responsible for who you are as a person. That's all you, babe. And a little bit of House. _A lot_ of your mom," she said, smiling as she gently nudged her.

"And you," Rachel said sweetly. "I don't know. I just don't want to be a disappointment."

Amelia shook her head. "That is the _last_ thing he will see you as. You said yourself that he was grateful enough to even be _speaking_ to you. He's not going to screw this up."

Rachel nodded. Simon had been very forthcoming about how much he appreciated the opportunity to get to know her via their letters. But written words were much different than spoken ones, and meaning—well, meaning could get lost in translation.

"You're a great kid, Rachel. And even if he can't see that, there are four other people that can."

Rachel let out a slight smile, knowing that Amelia was right. Most people grew up with only two parents; she'd been lucky enough to grow up with four. And she wouldn't trade that for the world.

* * *

"How's she doing?" Cuddy asked, gripping the mug of her steaming hot tea as she sat down at the kitchen table.

Amelia sighed. "It's hard to tell," she answered. "Nervous, excited, worried, scared. What you'd expect, really. She tried to hide it by bombarding me with questions about when Joey and I are going to get married."

Cuddy let out a slight laugh as she lifted the mug to her lips. "Two days ago she wanted to have a lengthy discussion about what led me to start dating House in the first place. I told her to stop worrying and go sketch something to calm herself down."

"That's where all those dress sketches on her desk came from," Amelia mused, nodding her head in realization. "I think she thinks that by getting to know her biological dad, she's going to lose a part of her life here."

"What? That's crazy," said Cuddy sadly, her heart dropping. Her face softened and she darted her eyes towards Rachel's room. "I hate that she thinks that."

"She's sixteen," Amelia conceded, "Her head is _full_ of crazy ideas and dramatic tendencies. I think once she sits down and really thinks about it, she'll realize that the two have nothing to do with each other."

"Maybe I'm making a mistake," Cuddy muttered, sighing as she brought the mug to her lips once more. "She'll blame me if this goes wrong."

"I don't think so," said Amelia, shaking her head. "We both know the only person she will blame is herself."

Cuddy sighed, her head dropping as she pushed her mug away. She lifted her eyes towards Amelia and muttered:

"That's even worse."

* * *

Rachel Cuddy crept out of bed as quietly as she could, taking careful steps to avoid the creaks in her hardwood floor. Over the years she'd learned the precise route to get from her room to the kitchen without making a sound; it was how she and House managed to sneak into the living room in the middle of the night.

She walked into the kitchen and opened the pantry, her hands immediately reaching for the peanut butter. She grabbed the apple slicer and two slices of bread, reassembling them all on the kitchen counter.

She placed the two pieces of bread into the toaster oven and turned around, taking the apple slicer in hand and cringing when the juice sprayed on to her fingers. She heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming towards her but ignored them, turning her attention to the toaster instead.

He wordlessly sat down in the bar stool, watching as she meticulously spread the peanut butter onto the slices of bread and arranged the apple slices in a way that ensured that every single one fit perfectly.

She didn't look up as she handed him the jar of peanut butter and a spoon.

"Want some?" she asked, lifting her eyes the tiniest bit.

He shrugged and took the jar. "It's two in the morning," he stated, eyeing her suspiciously. "Shouldn't you be rummaging through candy or sneaking ice cream? Apples are such a lame thing to have in the middle of the night," he said, dipping a spoon into jar and lifting it to his mouth.

"Nutritionists tend to disagree with you," she said flatly.

"Nutritionists also say you shouldn't eat past nine."

Rachel smirked.

"Nutritionists can go fuck themselves."

House smirked back.

"They'd probably like that," he said, his mouth full of peanut butter. Rachel made a disgusted face as he dipped the spoon back into the jar. "So," he continued, "any reason you're burning the midnight oil?"

Rachel shrugged.

"Couldn't sleep I guess," she answered, slightly defeated. She took a bite of her apple and peanut butter toast and cast her eyes down; House had a habit of unintentionally getting her to open up. "You?" she asked, desperate to change the subject before the conversation even started.

"Your mother snores," he said flatly. "You reconsidering your decision?"

"What decision?" she asked nonchalantly.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Of you going blonde," he deadpanned, putting the spoon back into the peanut butter. "Don't play dumb with me, Rachel. If you want to make quote unquote _grown up_ decisions, I'm going to talk to you like one."

"I didn't say I regretted my decision," she said confidently, pushing her plate to the side and folding her arms over her chest. "I just…you were her doctor, right?"

"My team handled her case," he answered.

She cocked her head to the side and glared at him. "Stop evading the question."

"Pretty sure "my team handled her case" constitutes as an answer."

"Why are you lying to me?" she challenged.

"I'm not," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Technically, I was her attending physician. My team handled her case and treated her. But I wasn't her doctor. Your mom was."

"Mom?" asked Rachel, a hint of surprise in her voice. "I thought…but she was your boss."

House nodded. "She was. But she brought in cases from time to time. Sometimes she stuck around, depending on how she was feeling towards me that week," he joked, causing Rachel to let out a slight laugh. "Luckily for you, your mom took a special interest in the case."

"Because she was pregnant?" Rachel finished, a hint of apprehension in her voice; she didn't know what to refer to her biological mother as. She knew her name was Natalie, but she felt uncomfortable using it; she felt even more uncomfortable using any version of the word "mother."

House shook his head.

"Nope, we didn't figure that part out until later. Cuddy cared about that girl. I still don't know why. Could have had something to do with it being so soon after losing the baby she was going to adopt—she didn't appreciate it when I brought that up though," he remember fondly, a slight smirk on his face.

Rachel smiled. She liked hearing House talk about her mom. It was almost as if he became a softer person the minute her name left his lips.

"You know the story," he said distractedly, not wanting to continue on with the conversation.

"No I don't," she countered, her elbows leaning on the counter. "Not the details, at least. I don't want to go into this completely blind, House. If there is anything I need to know about her, or even about him, you should tell me."

"You should ask your mom," he suggested.

"I'm asking you," she said definitively. "Mom will lie to me because she thinks it's what she's supposed to do. Luckily, you don't seem to have any moral compass when it comes to parenting. Or at all, for that matter."

House sighed.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, turning his head towards her.

Rachel's voice caught in her throat. Now that he was willing to give her answers, she couldn't seem to come up with the questions.

"Is he a bad person?" she asked timidly, removing her elbows from the counter and standing up straight.

"I have no idea," he answered honestly. "Back then he was just a teenager. He was your age when you were born."

Rachel nodded.

"I know, but do you think…do you think he knew about me? What about her? Was he in love with her?"

"You know I can't answer either one of those questions," he said.

She nodded. "I know. I was just hoping for some sort of fairy tale I guess. It just hasn't hit me until now, you know? That my mom is dead."

"Your mom is not dead," he said, locking eyes with her. His voice was calm and collected, and what should have sounded like an accusation sounded like some form of comfort. "She's asleep down the hall. And she'll be pissed if she finds out you're awake."

Rachel nodded, smiling sheepishly at him. She lifted her eyes up, feeling the hot sting of tears sliding down her cheek; she hadn't even realized she was crying. She knew she wouldn't be here if it weren't for her mom. Most women gave life to their daughters; her mom risked everything to make sure life was even possible.

Her mom was special.

"I know," said Rachel softly, the gratitude clear in her voice. "Night House."

"Night kid."

* * *

Cuddy stirred as she felt him slip back into the bed. She turned on her side, curling into him as her eyes began to flutter open. He placed his arm above her pillow, allowing her head to fall the crook of his shoulder. His fingers traipsed up and down her skin.

"She okay?" Cuddy murmured, asking the question for the second time that night. She opened her eyes, looking up at him.

He sighed. He'd hoped she was asleep.

"She's fine. Go back to sleep," he ordered gently.

Cuddy shook her head, sitting up slowly and propping herself up on her elbow.

"What did you guys talk about?" she asked. "Do you think I should go talk to her?"

"I think you should go back to sleep," he repeated.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I feel completely useless," she said, running a hand through her hair. House sighed; there was no way she was going back to sleep anytime soon. "She is clearly struggling with this. What am I supposed to do, just let her go through it alone? Let her talk to everyone _but_ me?"

"I don't know, Cuddy," he said, shaking his head.

They paused, their eyes locking; she couldn't remember the last time he admitted something like that.

"She wanted to know more about her birth mom," he said quietly, looking over at Cuddy, whose eyes were cast downward. "I told her you knew her better than I did."

"She was just a kid," Cuddy said, shaking her head and looking off into the distance. She directed her gaze back at House. "A scared, confused, kid. I think Rachel has this idea in her head of who her birth mother was, and I—I don't want to be responsible for shattering that illusion."

"She just wants the truth, Cuddy," he answered diplomatically. "Whatever that is. She can handle it."

Cuddy nodded. "I know she can," she answered confidently as she slid out of bed, her fingers immediately reaching for the sleeves of her shirt as she pulled it closer to her body; it was unusually cold in their house.

"I didn't mean right this minute," said House, his words falling on deaf ears.

"It's not like anyone in this house is sleeping," she said, not bothering to turn around before hurrying out the door.

"Some of us might be trying to you know!" he called out.

He smirked when he heard unison of cries screaming:

"Shut up, House!"

* * *

"Rachel?" called Cuddy, gently knocking on the door as she entered her daughter's room. Rachel propped herself up on the bed, unburying herself form her pillows and wiping away a stray tear as she sat up; she hated for her mother to see her cry.

Cuddy's face fell as she spotted her daughter's tear-stained cheeks.

"Mom," she said, her voice quivering as she wiped away a tear. "What are you doing awake? I didn't wake you up, did I?"

Cuddy waved her off, shaking her head as she walked over to her daughter's bed. She sat down, ankles crossed and eyes fixed on Rachel. Rachel sighed and cast her eyes to the side, refusing to meet Cuddy's.

"Rachel," Cuddy said firmly, placing her hand on Rachel's forearm. "Look at me," she ordered gently.

Reluctantly, Rachel turned her head towards her mother; her eyes were red and puffy, ands she sighed, because there was no use in pretending she hadn't been crying. She sucked in her breath, her long brown hair falling in front of her face as she continued to wipe away the stray tears.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on with you?" Cuddy asked as she gently rubbed Rachel's arm, attempting to give her some sort of solace. Rachel shrugged silently, content with the silent comfort of her mother's touch.

Cuddy nodded and sat back, readjusting as she leaned against the headboard to Rachel's iron-cast queen sized bed. She propped a pillow behind her back and pulled Rachel towards her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

Rachel smiled sadly and let her head fall to Cuddy's shoulder.

"You were her doctor," murmured Rachel, shifting her gaze up towards Cuddy. Cuddy nodded, her arm still wrapped around her daughter's small frame. "What was she…what was she like? Why did she leave me there?"

Cuddy sighed, giving Rachel a sympathetic look.

"She was just a kid, sweetie," Cuddy answered, repeating the words she'd spoken only moments ago. "A scared, confused, troubled kid. As for why she left you there, I don't have an answer for that. She thought you'd died. If she'd had you in a hospital—" Cuddy's voice trailed off; she didn't like to think about what might have happened if the scenario had played out differently. "If she'd had you in a hospital, you and I might not be sitting here right now."

Rachel nodded sadly, biting down on her lower lip.

"But," Cuddy continued, her voice warm and soft. She smiled down at Rachel. "I'd never seen her so happy as when I brought you into her room. She got to hold you before she died, and somehow—somehow that made it all okay."

"And my biological grandparents?

"They'd just lost their only daughter," said Cuddy quietly, gripping on to her daughter's elbow. She pulled Rachel closer to her. "It was too painful for them."

Rachel nodded, knowing that her mother was right.

"I get it," Rachel murmured. "What about House? Why were you so involved in his case? Was it because you were in love with him?"

Cuddy let out a slight laugh, pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead.

"Trust me, he spent hours trying to figure out the answer to that question. That was his first suggestion," she confirmed. "Although he didn't phrase it quite as eloquently as you did."

Rachel smirked; she could only imagine the lines he'd come up with. Her parents had been together for so long, it was hard to picture them _not _together.

"The truth is, I don't know why I was so attached. But I felt this connection with Natalie, and maybe it was because I'd just lost a baby I was going to adopt and I was clinging onto anything that would give me a hint of maternal feelings, or maybe House was right and it really _was_ because of him," she joked, shaking her head.

Rachel let out a slight laugh; deep down, she kind of hoped it was the latter.

"I'll never know why it happened," Cuddy said, directing her gaze towards Rachel. "But not a day goes by that I don't thank God that it did. You know that, right?"

Rachel nodded.

"I do," she answered simply, wrapping her arm around Cuddy's waist and snuggling up closer to her. Cuddy smiled, pressing another kiss to the top of her head. "Earlier I told House that I was hoping for a fairy tale ending with my biological parents," she whispered, turning her head towards Cuddy. "I should have realized that I'd already gotten one with you and House."

Cuddy didn't respond. She simply pulled her daughter closer to her and settle into the pillows, both content to drift off to sleep in silence; they'd gotten to the point where words were no longer needed.

Her mother's love was something Rachel never questioned.

* * *

_It's a tad short, but I didn't want to rush the story by trying to squeeze everything else in. Next chapter will be up soon. Let me know your thoughts!_

_-Alison_


	4. 4

_A/N: This is the final chapter to this story. It was such a treat diving back into this beloved universe, but I think I'll stay away for a bit and explore some other things. I appreciate everyone who has taken an interest in this story. The topic proved much more difficult to handle than I anticipated, but I hope I've done it justice. Enjoy!_

* * *

"So, this is it," Rachel murmured, slipping off her Prada sunglasses—a sixteenth birthday gift from Joey and Amelia that Cuddy _pretended _to be upset about; unbeknownst to her daughter, Cuddy sometimes snuck into her room and pocketed them for the day.

They stood outside the entrance to the hospital, unfamiliar faces whizzing in and out of the doors. Cuddy took a deep breath; being back there gave her an eerie, albeit slightly comforting, sense of familiarity.

House nodded.

"Yep," he confirmed. "Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Where dreams and people come to die," he quipped.

Cuddy scoffed.

"I resent that," she muttered offhandedly. She looked around, pulling her coat tighter to her body. "I still say we should have called first."

House shrugged.

"My team will be ecstatic to see me," he boasted confidently. "The two that are left, anyway."

Cuddy shook her head.

"Speaking as the former Dean of Medicine, I can _guarantee_ that Foreman will not appreciate us waltzing in and taking over his hospital," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice; she'd never spoken of the hospital in a way that suggested it was no longer hers.

Rachel smirked.

"We're not waltzing, Mom. We're exploring. There is a _huge_ difference. Besides, House promised me I could look at Natalie's file."

"You did _what_?" Cuddy fumed, folding her arms over her chest and turning towards House, who was glaring at Rachel.

"That was supposed to be our little secret, Benedict Arnold," he said, narrowing his eyes at Rachel; she simply shrugged and shot him a devilish grin. "What's the big deal? I was her doctor, the little gremlin over here is her biological relative. It's a grey area. You know how much I love those."

"It's unethical!" Cuddy exclaimed, throwing her hands out to the side. "You don't have the family's permission."

House shook his head.

"Sure I do," he said, grabbing Rachel by the arm and tugging her towards him. She rolled her eyes as she fell into step with him. "She is, quite literally, the aforementioned grey area."

"Is that what we're really doing here? I thought you wanted to…see people. If I'd known this was a medical scavenger hunt I never would have agreed."

"Seriously?" Rachel interjected, giving her mom a perplexed look. "You thought House wanted to _visit _people?"

Cuddy shrugged.

"I thought he might have wanted a little reminder of what our life used to be like. A fool's hope, apparently," she muttered.

"That is pathetically romantic of you. Emphasis on the _pathetic_," he sneered. "If you want, we can go make out in one of the supply closet's. Or better yet, the couch in Foreman's office. It will be just like old times."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully.

"Rachel, why do you want to look at that anyway? You're not going to understand half of it."

"Why do any of us do anything, Mom?" she wondered aloud, turning her head to the side. "It's the eternal question, really. I for one, am under the firm belief that everyone desires—"

"We've got to stop letting her watch Woody Allen films," Cuddy interrupted, looking directly at House. "She's becoming too existential for her age."

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"How much longer are we going to stand here? It's getting cold and people are starting to stare."

"I told you to wear a scarf," Cuddy scolded, looking at daughter's shivering hands and exposed neck.

"All of the ones I brought clashed with my dress," she rationalized, slightly offended that her mother didn't fully understand her troubles. "Amelia was distracting me when I was packing, blame her if I get hypothermia."

"Rationalizations and threats of implementing undeserving and completely unwarranted blame," House mused, placing his hand on Cuddy's lower back and gently rubbing it. "Feels good to be back."

* * *

"Hurry up," Rachel ordered, hovering over the desk chair as she nervously tapped her foot on the floor. "The file is right there," she said, pointing to a button on the screen. "God, are you really that blind?"

"If you don't stop your hovering your mother is going to end up sending me back to jail on account of the fact that I _murdered_ her daughter. And for some reason I don't think she'll be so forgiving this time around," he muttered, turning his head back towards Rachel and narrowing his eyes at her.

Rachel sighed dramatically and backed away, folding her arms over her chest.

They'd walked into the hospital about fifteen minutes ago, and while Cuddy was off catching up with a few of the doctors who still worked at the hospital, House and Rachel had snuck into Foreman's office.

"Sorry," she said unconvincingly, rolling her eyes. "I'd just like to read this file sometime before the turn of the century."

"If you're having another one of your angsty teenage moments, go find your mother so I don't have to deal with it. She'll at least pretend to be interested."

"Cute," Rachel sneered, walking back over to the chair, smirking proudly as she heard the sound of the pages printing out. She walked over to the printer, picking up the pages and casually flipping through them. "Wow," she murmured, her eyes catching unfamiliar words and unpronounceable phrases. "This is really cool. Thanks, House," she said shooting him a grateful smile.

He shook his head. Sometimes her moods were more unpredictable than he was when he was strung out on vicodin.

The pair exchanged guilty glances as they spotted and angry looking Foreman busting through the door to his office, Cuddy trailing lightly behind him.

"House!" he bellowed, shaking his head angrily as he approached his desk. "What the hell are you doing? Get out of my chair."

"Really? Your chair? That's what you're so concerned about? Huh," he mused, glancing over at Cuddy. "How come you weren't so mellow when you were running this place?"

Cuddy rolled here eyes.

"Probably has something to do with the fact that you made it a priority to make my life as difficult as possible."

House smirked and glanced over at Rachel.

"I excelled in that area," he said, causing Rachel to let out a slight laugh. "So, former-employee-who-now-runs-the-hospital-that-use d-to-be-run-by-former-employer's-wife, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked. "Gee, try fitting that on a license plate."

"You hacked into the Hospital's main frame," he said, glaring at House.

House shrugged innocently.

"I didn't break in, I _logged _in. Using your password," he explained. "Next time pick something a little less obvious than foreMAN."

"Give me the file, House," he ordered, fuming at House.

"That's a little counterproductive, don't you think?" piped in Rachel, getting up from the chair she was sitting in and walking over to where House and Foreman stood, her head tilting to the side with a sly grin on her face.

Cuddy sighed. "Oh boy," she murmured quietly, shaking her head as she looked over at House, who was simply beaming at his scheming little protégé.

"We already have your password, so what's to stop me from printing it out in another office?" Rachel asked, raising her eyebrows and giving Foreman an innocent look. "And with major databases like this one," she said, turning slightly and pointing towards the computer, "passwords have to be reset every sixty days or so. And considering it's the middle of December, I highly doubt it's time for a new one. Face it, Dr. Foreman—I'm going to read that file. The sooner I do, the sooner I—along with House, for that matter—get out of your hospital."

"I'm calling security," Foreman said, folding his arms over your chest.

"No you're not," Cuddy said, her shoulder dropping as she lifted her head up. "As flawed as their plan was, you have to admit that it does hold some merit," she said begrudgingly.

House elbowed Rachel in the side, the two of them smirking proudly as Cuddy came to their defense.

"Look," Cuddy said, turning to face Foreman, her hand gravitating toward his shoulder. "I know what you're going through. This job is…it can be nightmare, a rewarding one at times, but a nightmare nonetheless. But that's not why either one of us became doctors. We became doctors to help people, and this will help her," she said, turning her glance to her daughter. "So you're going to let her do this, because it's the right thing to do. And because if you don't, I'm going to tell the Board that I want my job back," she said simply.

Foreman groaned; the board made a habit of asking him if he was still in touch with Dr. Cuddy. The implication didn't sit well with him.

"Fine," he said, shaking his head. "Do whatever you want. But do it out of my office."

Rachel beamed up at House, letting out a squee as she excitedly gathered up the file and stuffed it into her large, black leather tote. She walked over to Cuddy and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a tight squeeze before kissing her on the cheek.

"I guess I have some reading to do," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "And medical textbooks to sort through," she said offhandedly. "I'm going to find Chase, I texted him and told him we were coming."

Cuddy gave her daughter a perplexed look.

"Why do you have Chase's phone number?"

Rachel shrugged.

"Because when I was fifteen I thought he was hot," she answered simply. "Still do, for that matter," she mused.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. On occasion, Chase reached out to House for help on a case. A few years back, Chase had brought him a patient that neither him nor his team had been able to figure out; Rachel had hung around the hospital more than usual that week, and Chase—unbeknownst to Cuddy—had been the sole reason for it.

"Don't let his accent impregnate you," House said, calling out to her as she left. Rachel waved a hand over her head, shrugging him off. Cuddy glared at him.

"We should go," Cuddy said, glancing over at House who was spinning around in Foreman's chair.

"You shouldn't have been in here in the first place," he said, staring down at House until he stopped spinning.

House sighed, taking his time to get out of the chair before limping over towards where Cuddy stood.

"Such a rules guy, this guy," House muttered, gently nudging Cuddy's arm. Cuddy shook her head and ushered House out the door, giving Foreman an apologetic look. She tried not to smile when she spotted the slightest hint of amusement on Foreman's face; she knew better than anyone that sometimes House's antics were the best kind of distraction.

Cuddy gave Foreman a slight wave, who nodded as they walked out the door. Once the door was closed, House paused, smirking knowingly at Cuddy.

"All that talk about doing the right thing," he said, glancing at her. "The threats of going to the board and demanding your job back," he continued, smirking at her. "That was a load of crap, wasn't it?"

Cuddy nodded.

"I guess we'll never know," she said, lifting her eyebrows and shrugging innocently.

House smirked, grabbed her by the elbow, and pulled her in for a kiss.

* * *

Rachel Cuddy sighed, sipping on her iced vanilla latte as she flipped the pages of a medical textbook. She set her coffee to the side, taking a break from it as she noticed her hand beginning to tremble; she knew it was winter, but she enjoyed the feeling of the ice against her teeth. She had a habit of drinking iced coffee in the winter and hot coffee in the summer; she claimed there was something refreshing about the beverage matching the temperature.

The case file hadn't revealed much; she didn't know what she expected. She wanted to know _about_ her biological mother, not her medical history.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard her phone ring. She picked it up and lifted it to her ear, smiling as she noticed Emma's name displayed across the screen.

"Hey hot stuff," said Emma, greeting Rachel before she even had the chance to say hello. "Having any luck?"

Rachel sighed and reached for her coffee. "Some. I was hoping to get a little information from her medical file, but it's not quite what I thought it would be. Remind me to never go to medical school, by the way."

Emma scoffed.

"You're reading her medical file? How morbidly dorky of you. What were you hoping to find, exactly?"

"I don't know," Rachel answered, defeated. "Answers, I guess. Maybe Simon can tell me more about her. It doesn't matter. What's going on at home?" she asked, not even trying to veil her attempt at changing the subject.

"All quiet on the western front," Emma quipped. "Madeline is throwing some party tonight but I'm not sure I'm going. Molly will probably be there."

"The person or the drug?" she asked, taking another sip of her coffee.

"Both, presumably," Emma answered. "Though my disdain for both is equally high. Drew asked about you the other night," she said suggestively.

Rachel glared, not caring that she couldn't see her; her silence spoke volumes.

"No he didn't," she said finally, not wanting to continue on with the conversation. She sighed; she could practically _hear _Emma rolling her eyes on the other end of the line.

"Yes he did. He always does," she insisted. "Stop being so self-deprecating."

Rachel groaned; Drew Henderson was a boy in their class who Rachel had become quite close to over the past year. They weren't officially dating, but they seemed to gravitate towards each other in school. He'd come to her field hockey games and she'd go to his lacrosse matches, and they did their homework together on occasion. Being around him was easy, and she liked that—sometimes she _needed_ that.

But she didn't like to think about it, because it made her nervous and giddy and slightly confused, and those were three things she simply couldn't afford to be right now.

"I don't know," she said, sighing as she leaned back in the chair. "I'm treading very lightly with that."

Emma groaned.

"Why?" she demanded. "He's beautiful, but he's not like, an asshole about it. Do you have any idea how hard that is to find? I mean really. Have you _met_ the guys Michaela and Alexandra are dating? Hot, yes, but majorly sucky personalities. Besides, Drew's parents have a house in St. Barts."

Rachel let out a slight laugh.

"Then I guess I'm just going to have to marry him," she deadpanned.

"Seems like the only logical thing to do," Emma replied drily. "By the way, can I borrow your black Essie nail polish? I ran out."

"Sure. It's in the top drawer of my desk. I'll get it when I get back."

"No need," Emma explained. "I found it."

Rachel paused, jolting up and narrowing her eyes.

"Emma," she said sternly, tilting her head to the side. "Are you in my house?"

"Alexander McQueen and I fancied a walk," she said innocently.

Rachel sighed; Alexander McQueen was Emma's year old corgi puppy, and the two girls loved nothing more than to try to sneak him into the house when they spent the night at Rachel's. They thought they'd finally gotten away with it one night, but the dog had snuck out of the room while they were sleeping and wandered into House and Cuddy's bedroom. Cuddy slept through the entire thing, but House ended up kicking them out of the house at two in the morning, forcing them to walk down the street to Emma's; when Cuddy found out she'd banished him to the living room for three days.

"How did you even get in there?" Rachel asked, more impressed than outraged.

"The spare key under the frog," she stated. "What can I say? Alexander McQueen misses you. Isn't that right Queenie?" Emma murmured, her voice going up an octave or two.

Rachel laughed as she heard the dog begin to bark excitedly.

"Whatever," said Rachel, letting out a slight smile as she took another sip of her coffee, practically draining it. "But I'm borrowing you Hermes scarf for the first day back at school."

"A seven dollar bottle of nail polish in exchange for a five-hundred dollar scarf?" she asked, feigning outrage. "You drive a hard bargain, Rachel Cuddy."

"That I do," she answered simply. "Kiss Alexander McQueen for me. And throw my whites in the wash while you're there," she ordered.

"Done. Sleepover when you get back?"

"Absolutely. We can swap horror stories," she said half-heartedly.

"Yikes," said Emma, the concern growing in her voice. "You really think it will be that bad?" she asked softly; Rachel could practically see her friend's face softening.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I didn't think so at first, but now…we'll see I guess. Could go either way."

"Try not to stress too much," Emma said, comforting her friend the best she could. "You know what that does to your skin," she said knowingly.

Rachel smirked.

"Thanks Mom."

"Anytime," she answered sweetly. "Besides," she continued seriously, "if it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. It's not like you have a miserable family life. You'll be okay, Cuddlebug."

Rachel glared; she hated that Emma still called her that. She'd come up with the nickname around the time they were eight, and she'd used it ever since.

"I'm hanging up now," she said sternly.

"Fine, bitch. Love you."

"Yeah, yeah," Rachel answered, shaking her head in amusement as she hung up the phone.

She looked down, checking the time on her watch; she had three hours before she had to meet Simon. She took a deep breath, pulled out her most coveted—and consequently worn out—copy of Lord of the Flies, deciding it was better to immerse herself in the world of fiction.

* * *

"Check out this hot nerd," House said, walking into the abandoned stairwell that Cuddy had snuck into; it had been her go to hiding spot back in the day.

Cuddy smirked, turning her head to the side as she slipped her thick-rimmed glasses off, tucking them into the v-neck of her shirt. Tucking her phone into her purse, she sighed, smiling at him as she sat down next to her.

"I guess old habits die hard," he said, nudging her gently with his arm.

Cuddy let out a slight laugh; she didn't know what the day would bring, but she certainly hadn't expected to be hiding out in the stairwell in the middle of the day.

"It's weird, isn't it?" she asked, scrunching up her nose and tilting her head to the side. "Being back here after all this time. It feels like a lifetime ago."

"That's because it was," he said, giving her a knowing look. It had been over ten years since she'd left Princeton; a lot had changed.

"Don't remind me," she joked, making a nod at her own age. House smirked, shaking his head at her antics. "Have you seen Rachel?"

He nodded.

"I walked past the DDX room earlier and she had her nose buried in that stupid book she reads over and over again. I went to all that trouble to get her that file and she just cast it aside," he muttered.

Cuddy smirked.

"Don't even try to pretend that you didn't have fun doing that," she said, letting her elbow fall to her knee, her cheek falling to the palm of her hand. "Think I should go check on her?"

He shook his head.

"Last time I interrupted her when she was reading she hit me over the head with the book," he grumbled. "I think she just wants to be alone."

"Probably," Cuddy said regretfully. She sighed, leaning her had against his shoulder, her eyes drifting towards his, content to sit in comfortable silence.

House twisted his cane against the floor, draping his other hand over her thigh, kneading her knee on occasion. He looked over at her, pausing his movements.

"How come I never adopted Rachel?" he asked seriously, his hand gently resting on her knee. Cuddy immediately shot up, giving him a perplexed look.

"Where is this coming from?" she asked, slightly alarmed. "Is this something you've been wanting to do? Have I…have I made it seem like that's not an option for you?"

"No," he said, shaking his head as he let out a slight smile. "That's not what I was saying. Never mind, forget it," he said, shrugging her off.

"That's not something you forget, House. You can't just say that and then shut up," she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

"We've been married for eight years," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Logically speaking, it's the right thing to do."

"You don't become a parent because it's the logical thing to do," she pointed out. "You have to want to do it. I haven't pushed the issue because it's not about me. It's about you. And Rachel, for that matter. It can't happen if she's against it."

"I know that," he said softly, nodding his head. "I've just been thinking about it lately. Wanted to make sure you were okay with it."

"Okay with it?" Cuddy asked, letting out a slight laugh as her lips formed a smile. She shook her head, clutching on to House's arm as she looked up at him. "I married you, House. We built a family together. Nothing would make me happier," she said honestly.

"Okay," he said, shrugging nonchalantly, acting as if they'd simply decided on what to have for dinner that night. "I guess we'll have to wait and see. Make sure she doesn't run off with her biological dad first."

Cuddy smirked, shaking her head as she looped her arm around his, her head falling to the top of his shoulder.

"Shut up, House," she said softly, slightly amused.

He smiled, looking over at her before pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

* * *

"I can feel you staring," Rachel said simply, her eyes never leaving the page as she turned it.

"Lord of the Flies," Chase stated, turning his head to the side as he read the title. "Brutal."

"Honest," Rachel corrected primly. "Did my mother send you to check up on me?" she asked, noticing the iced vanilla latte that he was holding in his left hand.

Chase let out a slight laugh.

"Busted," he said, handing her the coffee.

"Tell her thanks when you report back," she said, taking a sip from the coffee and placing it on the ground next to her empty one. She checked her watch once more; she had a few more minutes before they had to leave.

Chase nodded.

"What happened there?" he asked, pointing to the closed file and medical books that had been haphazardly cast aside.

Rachel sighed, her lips forming into a slight pout.

"Didn't have the answers I was looking for," she said sadly.

"Maybe you're not asking the right questions," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Rachel shrugged, scooting over on the couch that she'd plopped down into a few hours ago and making room for him.

"Maybe I'm not meant to know," she said, looking over at him as he sat next to her. "Maybe there's not even an answer to begin with."

Chase scoffed.

"Not an answer? House wouldn't buy that. I don't think you would either," he said, looking pointedly at her.

She shrugged and picked up the file, looking at it with longing and slight confusion. She shook it lightly, fiddling with the pages between.

"How much can one of these reveal, anyway?" she asked, perplexed. "It's just a bunch of medical stuff."

"You'd be surprised what one of these things can tell you," he said, flipping through the pages of the file. "We don't solve cases by testing. We solve them by getting to know the patient through the file and their lifestyle."

Rachel nodded. House tried to dehumanize medicine, but deep down she knew that it wasn't all about the puzzle for him. Not always, at least.

"Were you on the case?" she asked. "Did you know her?"

Chase shook his head.

"I wasn't on House's team when he had the case. But I knew a little bit. Your Mom…erm, Natalie," he corrected, catching his mistake as he spotted Rachel shifting uncomfortably. "She was just a kid. A bullied kid who just wanted to fit in. Leaving you in that house wasn't a malicious act. She thought you'd died."

"I know," Rachel said softly. "I'm not angry with her. I mean it's hard to be angry with someone you've never met. Sometimes I just wonder—I just wonder why she never told anyone."

Chase shrugged.

"She was scared. She was sixteen. That's about the only explanation I can offer you," he said, letting out a slight laughed.

Rachel nodded in understanding. She was sixteen. She liked to think that she'd make a different choice, but reality is far different than hypothetical; reality is uncertain to her in so many ways.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, nodding at her. Rachel shrugged, nodding her head and urging him to continue. "What's it really like living with House?"

Rachel smiled, biting down on her lower lip as she tilted her head to the side, mulling the question over.

"Annoyingly entertaining, surprisingly educational," she answered, nodding her head.

Chase scoffed.

"You like adjectives," he pointed out.

Rachel shrugged.

"I find that one word is rarely ever enough," she answered simply. She shrugged. "I imagine it's very similar to being his employee. You want to hate it, but deep down, you just can't."

"It's kind of like being in love with him," Cuddy said fondly, leaning against the frame of the door.

Chase let out a slight laugh and Rachel whipped her head around at the sound of her mother's voice, smiling widely at her. Talking about her biological mother always made her realize just how lucky she really was.

"We should go soon or we're going to be late. You ready?"

Rachel picked up her latte and stuffed her book into her bag. Chase picked up the file, letting it hang in the air as he dangled it towards her. Rachel paused, glancing over at her mother once more. At the last minute she directed her gaze back to Chase and took the file from him.

Maybe someday, when she was older and understood more, she would read through that file and get to know Natalie. Smiling widely, she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked over towards her mother.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go."

* * *

Rachel fumbled awkwardly with the piping hot mug, gripping it as she forced herself to bring it to her lips. Simon had taken the liberty of ordering a coffee for her; he'd been almost half an hour early, claiming that he could barely contain his excitement—as a result, he was unaware of her wintertime iced coffee rule.

The conversation had flowed nicely at the beginning; small talk and reminders of things they'd discussed in their letters. Stories abut school and her friends, what it was like living in DC, things of that nature. They talked about his job and about his personal life; he was the sports editor for the local newspaper and about to celebrate his three-year anniversary with his serious girlfriend, Olivia.

It hadn't gotten serious until he pointed out the freckle on the side of her nose.

"Your freckle," he said, pointing at it as he set his coffee aside. "Natalie had one just like it. And your eyes," he said, tilting his head to the side. He gulped. "They, um…they look just like hers did."

Rachel's breath hitched.

"They do?" she asked, her face falling slightly. She tried to stop herself, but she couldn't help it; that wasn't something she wanted to hear.

"You look disappointed," he said.

"I'm not," she said, doing her best to cover it up. "It's nice, I um…I didn't know that before."

"But, " he led, urging her to continue.

She smiled sheepishly.

"You're going to think this is really stupid," she argued, waving him off.

"Try me," he said seriously, lifting his gaze towards hers.

Rachel sighed.

"Its just that I like to pretend that I got my eyes from my mom. They look just like hers. And I'm tall like House is, and my mom and I have the same nose, minus the freckle. It's silly, but whenever I was feeling like I didn't fit in with my family, I would think about my eyes, and I just felt like I…belonged. But now I'm looking at you and you're telling me these things about her, and I feel like I'm losing a part of who I thought I was. But really I'm just discovering who I am. Where I come from. Like I said, it's stupid," she said, her voice trailing.

Simon shook his head.

"I don't think that's stupid at all. It's okay to feel upset, Rachel. I didn't expect you to come here and instantly see me as your dad. I don't know what I expected, really. But I don't want you to feel like I'm pulling you away from your parents. They're your family," he said shrugging. "And I promise you, it won't hurt my feelings if you want to keep on pretending that you got your eyes from your mom," he said, smiling at her as he spoke.

"That's a very progressive parenting move," she joked, taking a sip of her coffee; she decided that the hot beverage wasn't so bad after all. "So tell me more about Olivia," she said. "Is it serious?"

He smiled sheepishly at her.

"Getting there," he answered. "She's actually, the uh, the reason I reached out to you in the first place."

Rachel nodded; she figured as much.

"She got pregnant when she was seventeen," he explained, setting his coffee to the side and meeting her gaze. "She didn't go through with the pregnancy, but it just got me thinking about you, and Natalie, and…everything, I guess. And I started to feel guilty because I realized—I realized that you had two parents who abandoned you. And I wanted to make amends."

Rachel sighed; this was what she'd been afraid of.

"As nice as that is to hear, I don't want you to think about me and feel guilty. I want you to move on with your life. Marry Olivia, or the next girl, or even the next girl. Have kids, don't have kids, it doesn't matter. What matters is that you know I'm okay. That I've always been okay—that leaving me with my mom was the best thing you ever did for me."

Simon smiled, looking at her with the utmost respect and adoration.

"You're a really great kid, Rachel," he said honestly.

Rachel shrugged, grinning as she took another sip of her latte. Setting it to the side, she looked up at him, noticing for the first time the shape of his chin; it bore an uncanny resemblance to her own. She decided she didn't mind.

She shrugged once more, grinning up at him.

"No, I just have really great parents."

* * *

Her phone rang as soon as she left the café. She smiled, spotting Amelia's name on the display screen.

"How much trouble have you gotten into the last two days?" Rachel asked, half jokingly.

"Oh kid, you have no idea," Amelia answered, a hint of laughter in her voice. "I got a tattoo," she admitted.

"You're joking? Joey finally talked you into it?"

"That's one way of putting it," she said apprehensively. "It's an infinity ring," she said softly. "On the inside of my fourth finger."

Rachel paused in her step.

"Excuse me?" she asked excitedly; this could only mean one thing.

"It's not a big deal or anything. We're just getting, you know, married."

"Right, absolutely. Just getting married. Not a big deal at all," said Rachel simply, trying not to let the excitement show. She heard a slight sniffle on the other end of the phone, and she brought a hand to her face, grinning widely as she realized what Amelia was doing. "Melia, are you crying?" she asked, her face softening.

"Maybe," she said, choking back tears as she began to laugh good-naturedly. "I'm just—I'm just really happy, and I felt like you deserved to be the first person I told. I'm calling you mom next, so don't tell her, okay?"

Rachel nodded, unable to speak as she realized that a tear of her own was slipping down her face. She took a deep breath, trying not to let the rest escape.

Amelia let out another laugh.

"You're crying now, aren't you?" she asked. "God, now I'm really glad I didn't tell you in person. Can you imagine what that would have been like?"

Rachel laughed along, sitting down on a nearby bench and wiping the tear away from her face.

"I'm too busy picturing House as Joey's best man. He is going to look like such a dork in a tuxedo," Rachel said, smiling widely.

"We have to start planning as soon as you get back," Amelia said eagerly. "One of Joey's sisters is off doing something insanely dangerous yet totally awesome in Africa, but she'll be back at the end of May. I was thinking a June wedding," she said dreamily.

"That's like, six months away," Rachel exclaimed.

"I've made Joey wait for years," she said nonchalantly. "It would be mean to make him wait much longer. Wait, weren't you meeting with Simon this afternoon? How did it go?"

"Good," she answered. "Really good, actually. I think we'll keep in touch, maybe meet up a couple times a year. Nothing too serious though, we both have our own lives. I did come to kind of a major realization, though."

"What's that?"

Rachel smiled.

"I'm going to ask House to adopt me," she said, feeling like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

She smiled as she looked across the street, spotting her parents sitting outside at a coffee shop. A newspaper was open in front of them, and even from across the street she could tell that they were doing the crossword puzzle together. She watched as they laughed about something, and then she smiled, because the laughter quickly turned into snarky comments and playful banter.

"Anyway, I should go," Rachel said hurriedly. "I'm walking to meet Mom and House. Tell Joey I said hi and that he owes me a hundred bucks."

"Were you placing bets on how long it would take us to get married?" she asked, feigning outrage.

"Of course not," she said innocently. "Gotta go."

She smirked as she hung up the phone and made her way across the street, pulling her coat tighter to her chest; she really should have worn a scarf. She walked over to the coffee shop, smiling as Cuddy immediately stood up. House gave her a comforting look as he stood up next to her, placing his hand on the small of her back, his thumb rubbing gently across her back.

Immediately, Rachel walked into her mother's arms, enveloping her in a hug as she wrapped her arms around her neck. She buried her face into her shoulder and murmured:

"Thank you."

Cuddy's face softened and she looked over at House, who had a genuine smile on his face. She began to stroke her daughter's hair.

"For what?" she asked, softly, unwilling to let go of her.

"For being you."

Cuddy smiled and placed a kiss to the top of Rachel's head. Rachel pulled away, smiling up at House and Cuddy as she wiped another stray tear from her cheek. She'd done a lot of crying in the past weeks, but this time she knew it was different. This time, she finally understood what it meant to be crying tears of joy.

House looked over at Rachel, nodding his head at his daughter and his wife before saying:

"Let's go home."

* * *

_On three...1...2...3..AWWWW. Let me know your thoughts! Feedback is always appreciated. _

_-Alison_


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